Page 32 of Fast Kill

He poured her a glass of wine. “Working on a big one now?”

She crossed her arms over her chest rather than take it. “Yes.”

With a mental shrug at her rebuff, he took a sip for himself and settled back against the couch. There were things he had to know before he made his next decision. “Hear anything about me?”

“Several things, actually.”

This wasn’t going at all according to plan. He’d intended to charm her, redirect her out of this stiff and wary attitude, but he could already tell that wasn’t going to work. Hell, he should have known better. Taylor had always been too smart for her own good.

He’d been looking for proof about her involvement with the Baker case, and her reaction to him tonight was it. Although breaking into her house had been heavy-handed and he’d known it would set off alarm bells for her.

She definitely knew what he’d done, must have reported him, and might even be investigating him. That put him in a hell of a predicament, one that even their shared past couldn’t erase.

As of today, they were enemies in this war, and his path was already clear. Everything else was out of his hands at this point. Still, his boss had wanted him to ask her, so he would. Even though he was already certain what her answer would be.

“So I’m guessing this means you did a little digging about me today,” he said, and sipped more wine, barely even tasting it as he awaited her answer.

She didn’t deny it, just kept staring at him with that set, accusing look on her face.

He summoned up a wry smile and watched her for a moment. “Guess it wouldn’t do me any good to try to bribe you, huh?”

Taylor didn’t smile back, her expression as guarded as her body language. “You’re joking.”

Not at all.“Of course I’m joking.” Although it would have made things a hell of a lot easier if she’d been open to the idea. At least hear him out and consider taking money or some other kind of favor in exchange for information about what the DEA had on him and the other cartel members.

An informant in her position would have been invaluable to him and the cartel itself—maybe even more so because she was an analyst instead of a field agent. She had access to the inner financial workings of the investigation. Information he and the cartel needed, to figure out how to protect themselves and their investments going forward.

If she’d agreed to his proposition then he could have granted her protection. Now… His hands were tied where she was concerned.

“Is that what you came here to ask me?”

“I came to say goodbye, actually.” That much was true. He’d taken a calculated but necessary risk in coming here tonight when he’d been almost certain she’d reported him to the DEA either last night or today. “And…to warn you.”

She lifted her chin, her stony gaze pinned on him. “About what?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Of what? You?” She meant the words to be angry, but he heard the hurt behind them and a painful twinge needled his conscience.

This time his smile was sad. And as genuine as his next words. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“And why would I get hurt? I haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m careful about protecting myself.” She aimed another hard look at him. “Except with you, apparently.”

In a way, she was right. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was a shit situation, plain and simple. But she hadn’t been nearly careful enough.

He gave her a slow nod and put on a grin, though his heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise. He’d have given anything for this to end differently. “Well. Sorry to disturb your evening.”

Tipping the glass up, he drained the rest of the wine with one swallow, wishing it was a quadruple shot of vodka or whiskey instead. He wanted to get drunk out of his fucking mind just to escape this mess for a little while.

He stood and carried his empty glass to the kitchen, where he rinsed it out in the sink and put it in the dishwasher so she wouldn’t have to, uncaring that he’d left both fingerprints and traces of DNA on the glass. His prints had been entered into the federal database a long time ago now.

If a forensics team came in to gather physical evidence of him being here, it still wouldn’t help them find him. He had too many contacts, too many people who owed him favors, and there were so many places he could go to ground.

Taylor’s quiet footfalls on the wood floor behind him stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “So what now?” she asked.

He turned to face her and shrugged. “You tell me.”

She didn’t answer.

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